This is Not a Parody
by CSINut214andScullyAsTrinity
Summary: Okay, maybe it is...


It was a dark and stormy night. No really, it was. There was lots of thunder and lots of lightning and a load of ominous pauses for really creepy, eerie music.

"Interesting cases tonight," Grissom said to the team brightly. "Catherine and Warrick, you're investigating a double murder – a blonde former stripper and a black former gambler."

Catherine took the file enthusiastically. "This'll be an easy one, since the victims have no similarities to us!"

Grissom nodded and continued. "Sara, Ecklie, and I have a DB in Summerlin."

"But Ecklie's not on our team!" Sara objected.

"True," he conceded, "But in this story, he is."

"Oh, okay."

"Now, as for Greg, Nick and Sofia…" Grissom looked around in confusion. "Where's Sofia?"

"Sorry I'm late!" Sofia ran in, out of breath. "I had to drop the baby off at daycare."

They stared at her blankly. "What baby?"

She rolled her eyes. "Really, people. Did you not notice my gigantic belly and freakishly swollen face?"

"I tend not to notice you at all," Grissom remarked. "Oh wait, did I say that out loud? Anyway, you, Nick and Greg have a trick roll. Brass thinks the hooker might be Ellie."

"False alarm," interrupted Brass, striding into the room. "Turns out it wasn't her." He showed them a photograph of a prostitute.

"Uh, Jim…" Nick said hesitantly. "That woman is Asian."

"Yeah…" Brass said thoughtfully. "It's just that… every time I see Ellie, she looks different. How was I supposed to know?"

The team broke and headed off to their cases. "Wait for me," Grissom said to Sara. "I need to check something in my office."

She waited and waited, then after about an hour she approached his closed office door. Strange noises were emanating from the inside.

"Oh, yeah," he was moaning. "Oh-h-h yeeahh."

She peeked into the room. Grissom was holding a magazine open, looking at the centerfold while he ate a powdered donut.

"Mm, work it," he whispered.

"Grissom, what are you reading?"

He held up the magazine. "Red Ants Monthly. It's a new issue. You ready to go?"

"Yup."

As he walked up to her, she ran her thumb over his cheek lightly. "Powdered sugar," she explained. "From the donut."

* * *

Catherine and Warrick got to their scene first, and carefully processed it. This included fingerprinting surfaces and sticking Q-tips into various orifices.

"Oops," Catherine giggled, pointing to Warrick's shirt. "Your top five buttons are open."

He swore under his breath. "This is incredibly embarrassing. I feel so exposed." When he tried to cover his smooth hairless chest, the buttons popped off, arcing through the air and getting lodged in Catherine's cleavage.

"Wow, look at that," she gasped. "We'll never be able to get those out of there."

"Cath," Warrick growled, grabbing her. "I can't help myself anymore. Even with your demure clothing choices, I'm so aroused by you."

"Then kiss me, 'Rick," she said, using that weird nickname – I mean, it's not like they call her 'Therine.

Their lips crashed together. Catherine was a wet kisser, Warrick noticed. No, wait – her lips had sprung a leak!

"The collagen!" she cried. "My precious, precious collagen! The source of all my powers!"

* * *

Meanwhile, in Summerlin, Sara and Ecklie were attempting to be amicable with each other.

"See now, if you had never transferred the blonde to nights, we wouldn't be here right now." Okay, so Sara wasn't so much attempting as snarking.

Ecklie shot her a nasty glare but made no response.

"Oh, owned!" she exclaimed, pointing right in his face. Then she turned and made her way up the steep embankment to Old Man Nelson's farmhouse. It was quite easy to do, given her fashionable flats. Grissom and Doc Robbins stood off in the distance, talking about how little they enjoyed climbing.

Ecklie sighed and started up the hill after Sara, attempting to scale the slope in the blatantly metrosexual mules that his wife had insisted made him look far less bald.

Once at the top, Sara took in the scenery. It was pretty, like Grissom's eyes. She pushed that thought to the side and yelled down to Ecklie. "The body was found in here," she called, slapping the weathered red wood of the barn. "Shall we have a look?"

"We do have a warrant," asserted Ecklie as he pulled at clumps of grass in vain, attempting to propel himself up the hill.

Sara nodded, and flung the twin doors wide open. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low light of the barn's interior. "Looks like an armory in here!" she exclaimed.

"Mothman to Ladybug…" A crackly voice, muffled by static, came from Sara's hip. "Ladybug, are you in danger?"

She rolled her eyes and pulled out her walkie talkie. "No, Grissom, I'm fine."

"Are you sure, honey?"

"Yes."

"Roger that, honey. Over and out. Honey."

She turned back to the barn, which was filled with rifles, torpedo launchers, two antique cannons, and a wooden slingshot. Carefully sidestepping the slingshot, she made her way into the interior.

Suddenly, her foot brushed against a tripwire, and a mechanism released the wheels of one of the cannons. It rolled forward, knocking over a stack of rifles. One of the rifles fell directly on top of the cannon as it rolled out of the barn at a frightening speed.

"Look out!" she screamed down the hill. "It's a loose cannon! It's a loose cannon with a gun!"

But it was too late. Ecklie's girly-shoes were caught in the mud and he was helpless to escape the runaway plot device. He was promptly squished.

Grissom and Doc Robbins hurried over, meeting Sara at the foot of the hill.

"I'd say death by cranial hemorrhaging," Doc Robbins said. "Too bad he didn't have hair, the extra padding might have protected him from the cannon's dastardly weight."

"He sure didn't have any hair," Grissom agreed. "He was a bald, bald man. One who had no hair."

Sara reached over and ran her thumb over Grissom's cheek. "Uh… iron dust," she clarified when he looked at her funny. "From the cannon."

Just then, a policeman walked up. "Ma'am, I'll need you to take a breathalyzer test."

"What?" She looked to Grissom and Doc for help, but they were distracted by the blinding reflection of the sun off of Ecklie's bald, shiny head. Even though it was night. "The only thing I've drunk today is milk," Sara told the cop.

"Was it made out of beer?"

"…Maybe."

* * *

The trick roll, for some reason, was outside. When it started to rain, Nick yelled for ponchos, and Brass brought them some.

"I didn't get one," Sofia pouted.

"Poncho!" yelled Nick, and Brass threw him another one.

"So tell me, Nick," Sofia said, flirting blatantly. "Is _everything_ bigger in Texas?"

"Oh yeah," he said, puffing out his chest. "_Everything_. Except my wiener. That's really small."

Her smile faded. "Really?"

"Yup."

Greg nodded. "Yeah, it's tiny." He wanted to expand on that topic, but a bird had made a nest in his emo hair and he didn't want to disturb the eggs.

* * *

At the end of the night, the team met up for pancakes. Sara wiped nothing off of Grissom's cheeks several times, and Catherine spilled a jug of syrup into her massive cleavage.

"This is fun," Warrick said. "We should do this more often."

Everyone agreed, and then they talked about how bald Ecklie had been as they drank pitchers of mimosas. Sara wanted to drink some, but the cop in the corner was holding a breathalyzer and looking hopeful.

"God bless mimosas," David said, smacking his lips.

"God bless American accents," Sofia said, raising her glass.

"God bless resolved sexual tension," Warrick grinned.

"God bless red ants," Grissom said rapturously. "Oh… sorry, Nick."

"God bless collagen," Catherine toasted.

"God bless dusty faces," Sara said.

"God bless tiny wieners," Greg smirked, waggling his eyebrows at Nick.

"And God bless us," Doc Robbins said, smiling as he grabbed his crutches. "Every one."


End file.
